


Of All The Good Days In The Year

by Hekate1308



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Child Abuse, Gen, Inspired by A Christmas Carol, Inspired by Charles Dickens, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Past Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-04
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-06 10:00:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8745856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hekate1308/pseuds/Hekate1308
Summary: Castiel Novak had learned many things from his late brother: How to run the family business. Never to give into his feelings. Not to trust his fellow men.But the arrival of a new night guard at his apartment complex, as well as a visit from a world beyond this one, would teach him more than he had ever known.Adaptation of A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I am putting this up on tumblr in small pieces a day as an advent calendar. Come say hi, if you want (same name as here, hekate1308). Anyway, I decided to put it up here too, although in chapters more fitting the formular of the original.  
> Don't worry, this will get finished, and expect the last chapter on Christmas Day.  
> Enjoy!

Michael Novak was dead, to begin with. There could be no doubt whatsoever about that. All his life – all rather short forty years of it – he had been as exact in his professional as his barely-existing personal one; and everyone who’d known him could only agree that, when his time came, he had died as meticulously and completely as he had ever finished a business transaction.

So it could well and truly be said that Michael Novak was dead.

As the only person in the city to mourn him would have told you, if you had dared to ask; and few ever dared to even approach Castiel Novak.

He had taken over the business completely after his partner and the brother who raised him had died. He only left his office when absolutely necessary. He slept exactly five hours each night. He led the firm Novak & Novak with the care he needed in these difficult times.

And, as far as most who’d met him were concerned, he was as big a bastard as Michael had ever been.

He paid no heed to these voices, however. He never had.

One night in early December, Castiel staying late as always, he was reading through the last reports of the day. Calling for his secretary, he realized Rachel had already left. He should probably return to his apartment as well, then.

He carefully put the file he intended to take one last look at again before retiring to bed into his briefcase. Turning to check his reflection in the window, he frowned at his crooked tie. Such things had never happened to Michael. But no matter what Castiel did, he always looked slightly rumpled at the end of the day. He did his best to fix his appearance, then walked through the dark building, devoid of the life his employees brought to it by day.

He had never been afraid of the dark, or the silence. In fact he rather liked them.

He had never possessed very good social skills. Even Michael had told him so.

Michael...

On Christmas Eve it would be seven years since he had died. A car crash while going to a last-minute meeting with a faithful customer.

Castiel had been at home, waiting for his brother, to celebrate the season – as little as they did.

He hadn’t celebrated Christmas since Michael had died. There was no point.

And there was always more work to do.

_Idleness brings out the worst in people, Castiel._

He didn’t want to think about Michael. He knew how people talked about him. He thought as little of it as of the rumours about himself.

Michael had been a good man. Their family firm had been in good hands, then.

Castiel was just managing it, doing his best to keep it running.

He flagged down a taxi.

_There is no reason to have a driver, Castiel. Never make yourself dependent of anyone. And never forget that people have long ears._

He would go home, eat his usual Thursday Night dinner – a chicken breast salad – and retire after going through the last file again.

But then, for the first time in months, something unexpected happened.

He knew Mr. Singer, the night guard at his apartment building, quite well. Or as well as he had ever had any reason to. They nodded at one another when he entered the lift each night.

The same was true for any other night guard, although Mr. Singer worked here the most.

But today, someone else was sitting at the desk on the right of the revolving door, looking up from a book he was reading with a bright grin as Castiel stepped in.

He was taken aback.

_He’s beautiful._

_“No, Castiel”_ Michael’s voice answered in his head. _“First impressions are almost always wrong, and observation of someone’s look will not help you at all in the business world.”_

“Good evening” the man greeted him politely, “I’m Dean Winchester. I’m the new night guard”.

_But Thursday is Mr. Singer’s day._

“What happened to Mr. Singer?” he asked, slightly confused.

“Bobby’s retired and already enjoying telling me how much he loves sleeping in way too much” he answered cheerfully, so he didn’t seem to begrudge his retirement after all.

“I see”.

“You must be Mr. Novak from 721”.

Castiel blinked. Mr. – Winchester brought his hand up to rub his neck self-consciously.

“Bobby described most of those I’d get to see regularly. Just how you look like, don’t worry, nothing untoward.”

“What –“ Castiel stopped. He’d been about to ask, but what was the point?

_We are important, Castiel, and we are wealthy. Don’t allow personal entanglements to form. People will just be after you for the good you can do them._

He nodded to let Mr. Winchester know he’d been right, the continued to the elevator.

The doors were almost closed by the time he heard the night guard call out “Good night!”

The rest of his night felt off.

His salad didn’t taste the same, the file didn’t make as much sense as it had in his office, he found himself suddenly worried about the new Human Resource Manager even though he’d hand-picked him.

It was not difficult to figure out why it felt as if something had changed.

His days had a certain consistency to them. Castiel Novak knew how long he slept, how long he worked, what he ate.

And he never talked to anyone he had no cause to.

_Loneliness is just a state of mind, Castiel. There is nothing wrong with being alone. In fact, it is the safest position to be in._

But suddenly, someone new had burst onto the map of his life, had confused him with his green blazing eyes –

He’d even _smiled_ at him.

It was disconcerting. 

He told himself not to worry. The man – _Dean, his name is Dean – no, no, remember, Mr. Winchester, that’s it_ – probably just found him attractive.

It had happened before. It never lasted for long.

“Rachel!” he called out the next morning as soon as he had entered his office. His secretary bustled in, looking tired and a little sad, if he thought about it.

He didn’t ask. It wasn’t his place.

“Where is – “

She handed him his calendar. It had been lying very obviously in front of him on his desk.

Castiel hadn’t slept well last night, and he refused to think about why that had been. This morning, someone else had sat on the guard desk, and as usual he had swept past it with a short nod.

A meeting with Crowley, he noted. It could either run smoothly or take most of the day, depending on the man’s moods. Castiel had never liked him; he suspected that he’d had his fingers in certain illegal activities, but Michael had always insisted on keeping working with him, so that was what he did.

It didn’t make meetings any easier when Crowley had had a bad week however, and he suppressed a sigh.

_Rachel is here. Never show weakness in front of subordinates._

“Mr. Novak?” she asked. He looked up from Crowley’s file, which she had handed him already.

“Yes?”

“Do you think it would be possible for me to... take a vacation between Christmas and New Year’s?”

“You know we need to finish the end-of-the-year report” he said. Another one of Michael’s rules.

She nodded as if she had expected the answer, but her face grew even sadder.

“Of course, sir”.

She left without another word. He had the strange feeling she was upset with him.

The meeting with Crowley, at least, went well. Apparently he had had an eventful that left him rather happy. Castiel didn’t reply to any of his remarks and concentrated on the work at hand.

That evening, stepping into the building, he braced himself for what he was sure to find.

He was right.

Dean, with his bright grin again.

“Evening, Mr. Novak!”

He had decided to cut him short by all means possible; surely he’d understand eventually that Castiel didn’t care for small talk. But his nod did nothing to deter the man.

“Do you think we’re going to get some snow?”

“Snow?” he asked slowly. He’d not even looked up at the sky as he exited the taxi.

He never did.

“Could be” he finally added carefully, when he realized that Dean was still looking at him expectantly.

The grin he got in returning was even more blinding than the one he had been greeted with.

“Awesome! My little brother and I love the snow. And you should see how the kiddies gush about the snow men we build”.

The smile slipped of his face, and to his surprise, Castiel found himself disturbed by it.

_Why should I care?_

“Is that so?” he asked weakly, painfully aware that he must cut a rather odd figured trying to talk to someone he didn’t know. And he was ready to bet that his tie was crooked again.

Dean nodded enthusiastically, however.

_Is he just trying to be polite? Other tenants give the guards money for Christmas._

Now that he came to think of it, Dean, although stunning, looked somewhat thin, as if he hadn’t been eating enough in the last few weeks.

“We have mean snowball fights, too.”

A sudden image of Dean laughing in the snow, happy and carefree, flashed through Castiel’s mind.

And with a quick greeting, he did what he had done yesterday.

Only this time, he didn’t simply walk away from the desk.

He all but fled.

The next evening, as he once again automatically checked his reflection, he was unexpectedly struck by the first few snowflakes sinking down on the quiet city.

_I haven’t built a snowman in so long._

The thought came quickly, unbidden; he frowned and turned around, not paying attention to his once again crooked tie.

He knew why he’d suddenly thought of snowmen, of course. It was the same reason he’d suddenly looked at the snow, too.

The new strange night guard.

Or, perhaps not strange (he couldn’t tell from experience, Michael had never let him interact much with “the help” as he had called them). Maybe just... different. From the guards he was used to.

Why had he even told him about snow? There was no reason for it. No use.

Why should he and his brother be happy about something so simple and inconsequential?

A memory rose in his mind. Michael had been thirteen, he’d been five years old. They’d been in the garden.

_We did build a snowman that night, didn’t we?_

He knew exactly what Michael would have said.

_The past is the past. There’s no use in dwelling on it._

And yet he stood still for several minutes, a longing in his heart he couldn’t explain, watching the snow fall.

During the next few days, Castiel kept trying to avoid Dean’s eyes, but the guard seemed determined to make him talk. Or at least to get him to listen.

It didn’t help that, on the very evening it started snowing, Castiel’s mouth somehow committed treason and as he passed by Dean, he said, “Seems like you got your wish.”

“Right? It’s awesome!”

But even as Dean said it, he seemed less... glowing than the days before.

He bit his lip before he could make the mistake of asking him how he was.

“Don’t think it’s enough for snow men yet” Dean continued. “Do you?”

“I have to agree” he answered helplessly, “there is definitely not enough snow to build an entire man yet”.

Dean laughed.

“We’ll have to wait and see”. Again his expression grew sad.

“I just hope it distracts Sam for a bit.”

“Sam?”

Again his treacherous mouth had decided to ask when he shouldn’t have.

“My little brother. He’s had some... health issues, but he’s getting better” he told him firmly, as if he wanted to make himself believe it.

“I’m glad” Castiel answered, realizing that he actually was.

_Why? I don’t know Sam. I don’t even know this man who keeps talking to me._

“What about you? Do you have any siblings?”

Castiel wasn’t entirely sure if this was a conversation night guards were supposed to have with the tenants, and he was going to answer the question like he always did, of course.

He didn’t speak of Michael.

“I had a brother, but he died seven years ago.”

Once more, this was not what he expected to say.

“I’m so sorry.”

“On Christmas Eve” he found himself adding.

Dean winced.

“I’m guessing that’s not an easy time for you. You must miss him very much.”

He’d never thought about that. He supposed that he did miss Michael’s leadership of the firm.

“Hey” Dean reached out and squeezed his shoulder. “Sorry, man. Didn’t want to drag that back up.”

“It’s alright” he assured him, shocked by the sudden touch. People rarely touched him, and it was even rarer that he enjoyed it.

But Dean felt warm. Vibrant.

 _Alive_.

When he let his hand drop, Castiel almost reached for it. Almost.

He fled just like he had done before and swore to himself that he would never let himself be distracted by Dean Winchester again.

He could of course always call the     and have Dean removed as a night guard. He’d done so with others who he’d felt had allowed themselves too many liberties – he was certain that at least one of them had put his general key to good use as a burglar and a thief.

But then he remembered that Dean was thinner than he ought to be, and the shadows behind his eyes, even when he grinned brightly, and did nothing.

Instead, he suffered through more awkward talks.

And he had to admit they were beginning not to feel awkward anymore.

He knew that Dean was thirty, just a few years younger than himself. He knew his little brother had been studying to become a lawyer, but had taken some times off due to his non-specified health issues. He knew he had an old car, an Impala, that he loved perhaps a bit too much.

And he knew that he was starting to look forward to seeing Dean’s smile.

Castiel began to dread the weekends even more than he had before. Before, his only problem had been that he was alone at work, but now it meant walking through the glass doors and only having Mr. Turner politely acknowledge his existence instead of –

“Mr. Novak?”

He blinked. He’d been day-dreaming at work.

He never dreamed. It wasn’t good for business. Michael had taught him that.

To his surprise, Rachel didn’t seem confused or worried about his absent state of mind. Instead, she was smiling at him, a pleased, somewhat amused little smile he had never seen before.

“I’m sorry. You seemed to be miles away.”

He had been. Yesterday, Dean had mentioned that he and his brother lived in the east of town, and he had been wondering how far he had to drive to his work every day...

Castiel shook his head.

“The numbers you asked for” Rachel told him, her smile slowly slipping away.

There were questions on the tip of his tongue that had never been there before.

_Are you alright? Is your vacation time important?_

And then he found himself speculating if the end of the year report was really that important, after all. They could do it in the New Year.

He shook his head again, more firmly this time. To change Michael’s ways of doing the work... it felt like sacrilege.

As he dismissed Rachel and buried himself in familiar numbers, he was aware where these sudden changes had come from, and how to put a stop to them.

He would cease to talk to Dean Winchester.

Somehow, it didn’t make him feel any better.

True to his decision, that evening Castiel made certain to sweep past Dean with a calm expression on his face, not even bothering to greet him as he would have Mr. Singer.

He thought he heard him call out as the elevator doors closed, but he wasn’t sure.

He felt slightly off the whole evening.

It couldn’t be because of Dean Winchester. Just a week ago, not talking to anyone after leaving the office had been routine, his safe haven; why would it feel differently now? It made no sense.

And yet he wondered how Dean had looked like when he’d realized he didn’t want to talk. Had he been sad? Had he been indifferent?

_It doesn’t matter. It’s over._

_No, there’s nothing to be over. There never was anything to begin with._

Life had been easier without Dean Winchester in it.

“That’s the wrong sheet –“ he snapped at Rachel the next day before calming down. He never snapped.

“I am sorry. Please, bring me the right one and postpone my meeting with Mr. Crowley.”

He wasn’t in a bad mood because of the new night guard. He definitely wasn’t. Michael had taught him to control his emotions.

So that evening, he did what he had done yesterday. Only this time he made the mistake of catching a glimpse of Dean’s expression.

Sadness. Resignation. And – fear?

_Why would he be scared of me?_

At least he found an answer to that question.

On the fourth day after he’d stopped talking to Dean, the night guard called out to him during his flight to the elevator.

“Mr. Novak? Please, could we... talk?”

Reluctantly, he turned around.

There could be no mistaking the fear on his face. Dean truly was scared.

“I need this job” he blurted out. “I’m really sorry if I overstepped any – please don’t report me. I promise I won’t bug you, or any other tenant ever again –“

“It’s quite alright” he interrupted him hastily. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Dean relaxed and was about to say something else.

Castiel left.

The next night, he was practically dead on his feet. Crowley had shown him how much he liked being    by being an absolute bastard for over three hours, and since he hadn’t slept well the night before, he was doing his best to keep his eyes open when he came home.

He blinked confusedly, then checked that this was the right building.

The lobby had been decorated for Christmas. As far as Castiel remembered, there had never been any decoration.

Dean was just putting up another mistletoe when he turned around and saw him. His smile dropped and he respectfully nodded, then went back to his task.

This was what he had wanted.

Why did it feel so terrible then?

“What are –“ he stopped and only gesticulated towards the decorations.

Dean turned around again, a small happy smile on his face that made him look even younger.

“Asked my boss, he said it was okay to put them up. Figured the place could use some Christmas cheer”.

Castiel looked around.

He had to admit it looked... pretty.

“It’s nice.”

_Stop talking to him, that’s the opposite of what you want!_

He did what he always did in these situations.

He left.

Then, he suddenly found himself eying his office and those of his employees. Should he have done something for Christmas? He recalled that on the third floor, in her IT department, he’d allowed Charlie Bradbury to “go crazy on the season” as she had happily told him when she’d inquired if she could.

Come to think of it, she would probably get along well with Dean. They were both such bright souls...

The pencil in his hand snapped. Angrily, he flung it to the side. Maybe he should have called the owner, maybe he should have complained about Dean.

But he couldn’t. Not anymore. Not after that plea.

So he resigned himself to nod at Dean again, but instead of him, Mr. Turner was sitting at the desk.

He wanted to ask but didn’t.

When he reached his apartment, he reeled back.

There, right on the door, was Michael’s face, looking at him.

He blinked and it was gone. He shook his head.

He must have been working a little too much.

But as he sat in front of take-out Indian food (as he always did on Fridays) every single electric device in his apartment started ringing. He began running from room to room, trying to turn them off; but not even taking them off    did any good.

And then, suddenly, everything stopped.

Confused, he looked around his living room, but couldn’t find any cause until he turned around.

“Hello, Castiel” Michael greeted him, a sad, melancholy smile on his lips that wasn’t like him at all.

But Castiel would only think about that later.

At the moment, he was rather preoccupied with the fact that he could see through his late brother.


	2. Chapter 2

“M – Michael?“ he stammered. It wasn’t possible. His dead brother couldn’t have returned as a ghost. He was the one who had taught him there were no such things.

Again that strange smile that he’d never have seen on his face when he was alive.

“I’ve come to visit you often. I didn’t think you’d ever see me, but then...”.

The thought wasn’t entirely pleasant. Castiel swallowed.

“Can – can you sit down?” he asked finally.

Michael nodded.

So they sat down on the couch, and Michael continued to study him with... fondness. That was fondness.

“Castiel, I’ve come to speak to you for a reason.”

His first thought was that Michael wanted to know how the company was doing.

His brother shook his head.

“No. I thought about it too much when I was alive, I can’t waste time on it now.”

Castiel frowned. “Our family has held the company for – “

“Three generations” Michael interrupted him. “I know. I drilled it into you from the beginning.”

He paused. “I was wrong.”

“About what?” he asked.

“About almost everything” Michael answered simply, reaching out to touch him but recoiling at the last moment.

“All I ever taught you was to work. For the company, for the family. I never asked you what you wanted to do.”

“I – “ He’d never talked to him like this. This had to be a hallucination.

_Of course it is. Ghosts don’t exist. You should look for another place to get take out._

“You think I am the product of bad Indian food?” Michael huffed. “Why would you not believe me?”

“Why?” Castiel asked. “Because why would I think my brother has come back as a ghost when I know the senses can be deceived so easily? There are many explanations. Maybe I am suffering a mental break or was drugged, for some reason. Plus, I know my brother, and – “

He broke off abruptly. What had he been about to say?

_He’d never look at me so proudly._

_He’d never talk like this either._

The... ghost looked sad.

“I know” he said softly. “I treated you not half as good as you deserved.”

“What – you raised me” Castiel argued. Even though this couldn’t be his real brother, it hurt to hear him say this.

Their parents had been taken from them in a car accident – how ironic, he’d thought seven years ago bitterly when the same had happened to Michael – and since then his big brother had look after him, even though he’d only been eighteen at the time.

“I did. But still, not like I ought to have done. You’d just lost your parents.”

“So had you” he said softly. “And you were young as well.”

Michael sighed “That is true. But I know what responsibility I took when I was granted custody. You were a child. I should have focused on making you happy.”

“I am happy” he stated. He’d always been, apart from the grief he’d felt at losing his family members.

“I know you think that. Maybe you are, in your own way. But Castiel...” This time Michael did touch him, squeezed his shoulder, a comforting gesture like they had never used to exchange when he had been alive.

His hand felt cold. Castiel forced himself not to move. Even if this couldn’t be Michael, he hadn’t seen him in so long...

“But you’re still human” he continued. “And humans... we don’t do well alone.”

“You told me other people were what made life difficult and complicated. That it was saver to stay alone” Castiel pointed out.

“That’s the one thing I stand by”. Michael’s smile turned ironic.

“It is saver to be alone, to lock yourself away in your office or your apartment. To keep doing the same over and over again, each day no different than the last. But what is the point?”

“You just said it. To feel safe.”

Michael had never been so obtuse.

“But is that all there is? There’s more to life than numbers and patterns.” He let his hand drop from Castiel’s shoulder.

“You know that once. You loved to draw”.

It was true. Castiel had even once dreamed of becoming an artist. Before he had grown up.

“You laughed at my paintings.”

“And it was one of the biggest mistakes I ever made” he replied simply.

“We have enough money. Why keep the company just for the sake of it?”

Castiel had never dared asked the question out loud, not even in his teens.

“And then of course...” Michael looked him into the eyes.

“You were making a friend, just a few days ago.”

He pronounced the word _friend_ as if it held hidden meaning.

_Dean._

Castiel said nothing.

“He’s a good man. That much I know.”

He still didn’t reply.

Michael sighed.

“I feared it would come to this. There’s no easy way to say this, brother... but you will be visited by three more ghosts before Christmas Day.”

“What?!“ Castiel exclaimed. If he had believed he was actually with his brother – if he could actually have convinced himself that he was speaking too Michael – this would still have been too much, he felt.

Three more ghosts?

Micheal chuckled.

“I would be lying if I said I didn’t expect this reaction”.

He didn’t think he’d ever seen Micahel chuckle. And now this strange transparent version of him had.

“Have you asked yourself while I am still here?”

“Aside from the news that more “ghosts” are about to visit me?”

Castiel didn’t care that he was once again using                 .

“You might just have wanted to see me.”

Although Michael had never been really eager to spend time with him.

“No. I didn’t mean in your apartment.”

Michael waved a hand in the air.

“I mean here. On earth”.

He didn’t wait for a reply.

“It’s because there’s no rest for people like me. All my life, my spirit never went further than my office – I even kept you at a distance. And as I was in life, so I am in death – alone. I travel on the wings of the wind. Never standing still. Never talking even to my own kind. I only see them from a distance;  every single one as alone as me.”

“I’m not lonely” Castiel tried to interrupt him.

“No, but you’re alone. I won’t deny that I bear some fault in this; but you are an adult now, and you were the one who decided to turn your back on every one you meet.”

“I’m perfectly content” he insisted.

“And that’s just it. I’ve spent too long making sure you were content. I want you to be happy. Truly happy. And to ensure that.... People cannot be alone, Castiel. People need other people.”

He didn’t think so, but it was clear he wouldn’t be able to convince Michael –

Was he really thinking of this hallucination as Michael now?

Apparently he was, since the thought of him not being at rest left a lump in his throat all of a sudden.

“If I – if I accept the visits from the three ghosts... will you find peace?”

Michael grinned at him, so bright and eager and unlike his former self.

“That’s why I want you to find someone” he said. “No matter what I told you, your heart always stayed the same.” His smile dropped. “I don’t know the answer to your question. We will have to find out.”

Castiel sighed in defeat.

_If this is a hallucination, maybe it will go away if I tell it what it wants to hear.”_

“It is settled then. Just make sure they don’t come during work hours”.

“Have you forgotten your ghost stories? They’ll come at midnight.”

Michael stood up.

“Wait” Castiel said, following his example, “You haven’t told me on what day I may expect them.”

“One after the other” he answered, “and I’m afraid you’re supposed to be surprised by their visits so their lessons seem... more intense.”

He was moving toward the window that suddenly opened itself.

The lump in his throat was back.

“Mickey...”

He’d lost his brother seven years ago, and now he was walking away from him all over again.

In a flash, so quickly that Castiel wasn’t sure he’d not... teleported in front of him, Michael was at his side again.

“Don’t leave” he forced out. Hallucination or not, if he could keep his brother...

“I have to, Castiel. I’m sorry” Michael said softly, moving closer. “You were always the most important thing in my life, and I forgot that too often.”

He gently touched his shoulder once more.

“You look exhausted”.

He was. He hadn’t been sleeping well ever since he had run away from De-

He shoved the thought away; it was easier than usual, since all of a sudden he felt even more tired, barely able to stand up.

He was vaguely aware of Michael helping him to bed.

“Sleep well, Castiel” was the last thing he heard. “I love you. I wish I could have shown it better”.

And then there was only the darkness of sleep.

For the first time since he had taken over the company, Castiel overslept and came to work ten minutes later. He barely noticed, his mind was still reeling from the visit he had received yesterday –

Only it couldn’t have been Michael. The dead didn’t wander the earth.

_But why were you still wearing your clothes from yesterday when you woke up, and why were you tucked in –_

_I was tired. That was all._

Rachel spent the day throwing him strange glances, obviously wondering if there was something wrong with him.

That night, Dean was sitting at his desk again, head bowed; and for a second, Castiel thought his shoulders might be shaking.

Then his head snapped up and he gave him a polite nod before looking away.

_People cannot be alone, Castiel._

He ignored the memory of Michael’s voice and walked on.

Until later that night, he avoided thinking of his brother.

Then he was woken up by he didn’t know what.

He only knew that someone was in his bedroom, speaking to him.

“Hello, my little angel.”

“Mother?”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: This chapter contains child abuse and is decidedly not John Winchester friendly.

Yes, his mother was standing in his bedroom. His mother, her hair in a tidy knot and wearing a grey pantsuit, as he had seen her for the last time when he had been eight.

“You’ve grown up so much” she said gently. “You look just like your father.”

“Mother, I...” He swallowed.

_This is not possible. Mother cannot be here. This is a dream, or a hallucination – you should go to a doctor one of these days..._

“Angel” she interrupted him gently, reaching out to touch his cheek.

And he did remember her touch.

“Mom?” he breathed. She nodded.

“I missed you two so much”.

For a second, even with her being transparent, just like Michael had been, it looked like she was about to cry; then she shook her head.

“No use thinking about that now. Come; I have to show you some things”.

“I really do need to sleep, I have got work tomorrow...”

“This is more important than sleep, Castiel”. She gave him a melancholy smile.

“You’ve grown up, but you haven’t learned the most important lesson yet. Please”.

She held out her hand.

Castiel thought about refusing her. She couldn’t force him to go, surely? But then he remembered Michael, and if that had been Michael, if he had a chance and Castiel didn’t take it –

He got out of bed and reached for his trousers, but his mother shook her head.

“You won’t be cold, and no one will be able to see us, don’t worry.”

He was about to protest when she reached out and gently touched his chest, right where his heart was beating frantically.

As he looked around, he suddenly found himself on a street lined by comfortable-looking houses.

_No. It can’t be. Michael sold it afterwards, there is nothing to see here –_

“You were a child when you left. Do you still remember the way?”

Remember the way? He could have found the house he’d grown up in blindfolded.

Castiel was eagerly walking back to his childhood home when, to his horror, a child from a neighbouring house ran out into the snow (as his mother had said, he wasn’t cold) and right through him.

“What – “ he turned around.                             

“This is the past, dear” she told him gently. “Shadows of what has been. They can’t hear or see us.”

“Which year is this, then?” he asked when they had reached the house. It was decorated for Christmas, with enough lights that he wondered why it bore all the weight.

“1976” she told him.

The year he’d been born.

He looked at his mother, then back at the house, unsure.

“Go on” she urged him.

They could just walk through walls and doors, apparently; and soon he found himself in their festive former living room, a big tree standing right in the middle, and an eight-year-old child busy pointing out to a baby it was holding why this was “the best tree ever”.

“Look, Castiel, and there’s the ornament Grandma gave us last year – you weren’t there yet, Mom and Dad made me wait a looooooooooooong time – “

“You were my little surprise” his mother said softly.

“I know” he answered, staring at the brother he’d come to know as reserved and stern.

“And once you’ve grown up a bit we can play and have fun all the time, but first you gotta learn how to talk and walk, oh, and you’ll have to learn to write so you can send Santa a letter, it’s okay this year I did it for you – “

“He’d show you the tree every year, remember? Even after you were old enough to sneak in on your own.”

“He insisted on it.”

“Now, Michael, what have I told you about going into the living room early?” his mother, who had just stepped into the living room, not transparent but alive and well, asked. She was smiling, however, letting him know that she wasn’t angry at all.

“But Castiel needs to know everything, Mom, otherwise he won’t know it’s special. Isn’t that right?” he addressed his baby brother, who made a gurgling noise to show he was happy, Castiel guessed.

It hurt to see them again like this, as a family.

Once his father joined them with his laughter that Castiel remembered too well, he felt something wet on his cheek and realized he was crying.

He hadn’t even cried when Michael...

“Why bring me here?” he asked, watching Michael ripping off the wrapping of one of Castiel’s presents and showing his baby brother the “super cool bear” he’d got.

“Because you need to remember. Michael wasn’t always...” she trailed off, infinite sorrow in her voice. “We were a family.”

“And we were happy” Castiel said gently.

“And that doesn’t mean you can’t be again.”

He’d never seen it that way.

“And then Santa told the Elves to build a sleigh, but they didn’t really know how, so they sent their smallest elf out to find a plan, because he was also the smartest –“

Castiel was watching in awe as Michael told him as a baby a Christmas story without taking a breath, their parents sitting next to them smiling softly.

“We have to go” his mother told him, but it was difficult to disentangle himself from the picture before him.

“There are other things you need to see” she said, and suddenly everything changed.

When he turned to look at her, she shook her head.                                                                       

“Sorry, love; some things need to be done.”

The house they were standing in front of now was completely unfamiliar to him.

“Mom?”

“We’re in Lawrence, Kansas. 1982”.

“Whose house is this?”

She smiled at him.

“Someone very special is living here.”

She moved without clarifying her statement; he remembered her habit of teasing him with information so she would not spoil the surprise.

But he knew neither the man nor the woman who were busy decorating a Christmas tree.

There was a soft knock on the door of the living room, and the two smiled at one another.

“No” the man called out, “You can’t come in yet.”

“But Dad...”

It was the voice of a small child, eager and excited.

Mary shot her husband a playful glare.

“Dean, remember what I said?”

“Yes, Mom” he replied with a sigh.

“So go back to your room and play. Santa’ll be done soon.”

“If you are helping him, why can’t I hear Santa?”

“Because only parents can, sweety”.

The little boy mumbled to himself as he stalked off.

He didn’t have to wait for long, at least; his parents were finished with the tree soon afterwards and only quickly put the presents where they were supposed to be.

“We really should have done it yesterday or this morning” the woman fretted.

“Dean understood that we had to go to the hospital because you weren’t feeling well. Don’t worry.”

“I just want our children to have good memories of Christmas” she said softly, laying her hand on her protruding stomach.

The man put his hand over hers for a second before he went to get his older son, who soon bounced down the stairs.

And once he saw him, Castiel didn’t have to ask anymore what he was doing here.

He would have known those green eyes and that boyish grin everywhere.

Young Dean Winchester had already all the charm he would exhibit as an adult, happily greeting both his mother and his yet-to-be-born sibling.

“Merry Christmas, Mom! Merry Christmas, Sammy!” Then he bit his lip, looking worried.

“Sweetey?”

“Sammy is alright? You are okay?”

“Yes, I am. The doctors made sure of it” she answered. Dean’s face lit up and he delved into his presents.

That was where his love of Christmas decorations came from, Castiel mused. His parents and the little brother he’d been talking about.

He’d loved him before he was even born.

Like Michael had Castiel.

“They look happy” he suddenly said. No wonder Dean was always smiling so much. He’d probably go back home to his parents this year too, which meant he wouldn’t see him over the holidays...

“Sometimes things turn out differently.”

“What do you know about him? Them?” he asked, forcing all speculation as to where Dean Winchester would spend Christmas to the back of his mind.

“Not much. I just know that little boy over there? He’ll be very important to you some day when he’s grown up.”

Castiel flushed.

“We were just talking.”

“And I understand that doesn’t happen often” she replied.

He looked away.

She touched his hand, and again he realized how cold she felt.

“You were such a happy child. Always eager to make new friends.”

“Doesn’t mean I had any luck making them” he said, still looking at Dean opening his presents rather than at his mother.

“Sometimes it just needs the right people.”

“So you’re telling me Dean Winchester and I are supposed to be friends? Is that what this is about?”

“No. This is about much more.”

“Can’t you just tell me?” he asked, feeling like he was intruding on a private moment of this family he had nothing to do with. Nothing at all.

_Not even with Dean. You made sure of that._

His mother hadn’t answered.

“I don’t get it. There, I’ll admit it. I don’t understand what I’m supposed to be learning, or how this will help Michael, if that even was him. And if I don’t understand – then why show me?”

“Because you should that you have more in common than you think” Mom told him, not looking at him.

And the picture changed.

They passed into the apartment building they found themselves in front of without speaking.

How well Castiel remembered it.

This was where they had moved after their parents died. He’d never asked why, but assumed the memories had been too much for Michael.

He understood.

There was a small Christmas tree in the corner of the living room, but the atmosphere was not nearly as cheerful as it had been in his last memory.

Castiel’s heart sank.

It was the first Christmas after – after –

“I missed you so much” he whispered even though no one could hear him.

“I know.”

A little boy of ten years stole into the living room and sat down in front of the tree. He gingerly reached out and touched one of the ornaments Mom had bought only last year.

He suppressed a whimper.

It hadn’t been easy, Castiel remembered. It had been awful, in fact, nothing able to fill the hole that their parents had left behind –

“Castiel?”

Michael had come in, looking tired and worried.

“Mom and Dad aren’t here”.

It was such a simple statement of fact, but it brought tears to Michael’s eyes. He slowly walked over and sat down next to his brother.

“I wished really hard”.

To have the faith of a ten-year-old again, just for a second, to try and bring back those he’d lost.

Castiel hadn’t thought about how he’d prayed for months, promising that he’d be good and that he didn’t need any other presents ever again, in a long time.

“I did too. But some things are impossible.”

Castiel sniffed. “Why did they have to –“

“I don’t know”.

They sat there, watching the tree.

“Hey” Michael said suddenly, “remember when Dad insisted that he make ornaments that one year? And this was all we got for it.”

He reached out and carefully extracted an angel from a low-hanging branch.

Admittedly, it was a little crooked, not even the halo was straight; but he’d taken care to give it blue eyes and messy dark hair.

Castiel watched his younger self giggle, even though he was still crying a little, and crawling into Michael’s lap.

“Show me the tree, Mickey”.

In later years, his brother had forbidden him from calling him the nickname.

“I’d forgotten about this” he admitted. “Is that what you want me to do? Remember?”

Because at this sight, the pain he’d kept buried, through the funeral, through everything he’d done since Michael died, broke free.  

And he cried for the first time since Michael had died, for the brother he’d lost, for the years in which they had barely spoken about anything but business, for the little boy who couldn’t understand why his parents couldn’t come back to him.

It took him a few moments to realize his mother was hugging him; it felt strange to be taller than her. He wanted to squeeze, but feared of hurting her, even though she was a ghost.

“My angel” she whispered. “It will be alright.”

He thought he asked “How” but couldn’t be sure;  he was too confused, shaking, crying in a lost loved one’s arms like the boy on the other side of the room.

“People you love may be gone, but that doesn’t mean you can’t hold on to the memories. Even if it hurts, Castiel. That’s life.”

“I have never been very fond of that sentence.”

“I know. You always needed better reasons, even as a child. But it is true. And even though this is all gone... It doesn’t mean you can’t have it again. You just have to see.”

“See what, exactly?” he asked, pulling back after having calmed himself down.

Mom wouldn’t meet his eyes.

“I wished I didn’t have to show you” she admitted.

Once more, they found themselves in another place.

It was the same house he’d watched Dean and his family in, but it looked worse for wear.

There were no lights or decorations outside, for one thing. A window on the upper floor was broken.

“Is it Christmas time again?” he asked.

“A year after we saw them last”.

“But how – “

Mom shook her head and they walked in.

There were no decorations inside either, nothing to celebrate the joy of the season.

It was a striking contrast to the happy home it had been only a year prior.

Upstairs, a baby started crying. He waited for the voices of the parents he’d watched decorate the tree but instead he heard small feet descend down the stairs, and Dean appeared and went into what turned out to be the kitchen.

This wasn’t the happy boy they had witnessed earlier. The shirt he was wearing was dirty and about a size to small, and he was shivering too. Castiel couldn’t feel it, but assumed that the house was cold.

To his surprise, the child pulled a chair up to the kitchenette, climbed on it and proceeded to mix baby formula into a bottle, even heating it up at the end.

“He’s much too young to work in the kitchen by himself” he stated dumbly, confused as to why his parents had let it get so far. Maybe this was just a one-time thing? But then how did he know what he was supposed to do?

They followed Dean upstairs into the room where the baby was still crying.

The small boy was lying in his crib in the nursery, carefully tucked in. Dean’s work, he was sure.

“Here I am Sammy. Sorry it took so long” Dean told him, scooping him up, struggling a bit with having to juggle both the baby and the bottle until he decided to sit down on the floor.

“Merry Christmas” Dean told him while his brother was drinking his formula. “Sorry you don’t get any presents, but I asked Daddy and he said he didn’t want anything to do with it – Mummy would have, though, I’m sure. She’s in Heaven now, celebrating with the angels – “

At least that was what Castiel understood; Dean was of course still speaking like a little child would, but his brother seemed enamoured by his voice, lacking vocabulary and grammar notwithstanding.

He couldn’t watch any longer before he stormed out of his room.

“Where’s their – “

His mother pointed at a door at the end of a hallway.

Castiel had somehow expected it, but it still hurt to see the father who’d been so happy only a year ago lying on the bed in his dirty clothes, surrounded by bottle. He was fast asleep.

“What happened?” he asked.

“Mary Winchester died at Sam’s birth. John Winchester... lost himself”.

_That’s why she was in hospital. Complications with the pregnancy._

Cas swallowed.

“You’re not – you’re not showing me Dean’s misery because you want to convince me that others have it worse – “

“Castiel!”

Mom was obviously shocked.

“It’s not about that.” She threw a disgusted glance at the man on the bed. “It’s about seeing that some souls, no matter what, will always shine brightly. And they will always be worth knowing”.

Castiel was already walking back to the nursery, where Dean was singing “We wish you a merry Christmas” to Sam.

“Tell me it got better” he begged.

The scene changed.

They were now standing in the living room of the house, where he’d last seen a happy family under their Christmas tree.  Now, the same man, looking at least ten years older, was drinking again on the dirty couch.

The front door opened.

 “Dean!” the older Winchester called out.

No answer.

“Dean!” he growled again. “Come here, and don’t even think about hiding whatever you brought with you”.

Reluctantly, Dean shuffled into the room. He was about ten years old, and clutching a paper bag.

“Hi, Dad.”

“What have you got there?”

“It’s for Sammy. For Christmas”.

“Gimme”.

When Dean didn’t make a move, he got up and wrenched the bag out of his hand.

“Is that – “ He held up a batman figurine.

“How did you pay for this?”

“Mr. Turner gave me money when I cleared his drive”.

“And you didn’t think to ask me what we could use it for?”

Dean said nothing. He was looking down on the floor.

It was only then that Castiel saw the bruise on his upper left arm.

“And what is that?”

Dean flinched, but after several moments of silence he finally looked up to his father holding a comic book. It seemed to be about Batman, too.

“Get stuff for Sammy, good. But he can’t read that well yet.”

“I can read it to – “

Dean didn’t even get to finish the sentence before John tore the cover off the comic.

The boy took a step back, tears in his eyes.

“If you think – “ John began, advancing towards him slowly, a dark expression on his face.

He was interrupted by the door bell.

“What – “ He looked unsure for a moment, before he shook his head and decided to ignore it.

Until the bell rang again, followed by several loud knocks.

“Come on boy, I won’t bite. I saw you enter” a gruff voice called out.

Dean’s eyes widened. John grabbed him and shook him.

“What have you done now, boy?”

But their visitor was still knocking and shouting, so he threw Dean down and went to see who was there.

Castiel, even though he wanted to stay out of a useless impulse to help the child, who was busy grabbing both the comic and the figurine and hiding them, followed him together with Mom.

“Mr. Singer” he said, surprised.

There was indeed a younger version of the night guard Dean had replaced standing in front of John Winchester, glaring at him.

“What do you want?”

“It’s about Dean.”

“What about Dean? Did he steal some money from you? Because I can assure you – “

“He wasn’t stealing” Mr. Singer interrupted him. “I was visiting an old friend of mine, and Dean came by to shovel the drive in a jacket that didn’t fit him anymore. Took him quite a while, _him being a kid and all._ Now, Rufus is pretty much a recluse, but we decided someone should look after him, make sure everything’s okay at home.”

“Everything’s just peachy, so – “

“I would like to hear that from Dean himself”.

John didn’t seem to think it necessary, but the man had his foot in the door and clearly no intention to leave, so he called out for his son.

Dean slowly made his way into the hallway, coughing. When he put his hand down, there was blood on it.

Castiel’s heart stilled. He must have thrown Dean down harder than he’d thought.

One look was all it took for Mr. Singer to barge into the house and gather Dean up in his arms.

“You okay, son?”

“Can’t really breathe” Dean muttered, looking confused.

“We’ll get you some help, don’t worry” Mr. Singer hushed him, rubbing his back.

Yet when he turned around and faced a rather angry-looking John Winchester, Dean mumbled, “Sammy.”

“Sammy?”

“My – brother” he coughed.

“Okay, we’ll get him too, then”.

“Now wait a moment – “ John began, trying to punch Mr. Singer. Because he was intoxicated, however, the other man dodged him easily and kicked him in the stomach.

While John Winchester crumbled to the ground, he quickly got up the stairs, Dean whimpering in his arms.

Castiel ran after him; they found Sam already in the hallway, looking scared. The second he saw Dean though, he launched himself at Mr. Singer and started beating at his legs.

“What did you do to Dean?”

“Hey” he kneeled down.

“I did nothing, kid. But he needs help. Do you want to go with us to the hospital?”

Sam shivered but said determinedly, “I want to stay with Dean.”

“Then you gotta help me real quick. Can you pack a few of you and Dean’s clothes?”

By the time he’d finished speaking, Sam had already darted back into what used to be the nursery.

They were gone within three minutes, leaving John Winchester still wheezing from the kick on the carpet in front of the door.

“They didn’t have to go back, did they?” Castiel asked anxiously.

“No. They never saw their father again; he died of alcohol poisoning a year later. Mr. Singer called the police from the hospital. It took a while, since he wasn’t related to them and hadn’t even known them before, but he managed to get custody. Sam wouldn’t let go of him in the hospital, especially when it turned out Dean had a puncture lung from a rib fracture.”

His mother smiled.

“They might not have been completely honest about the fact that Mr. Singer was a complete stranger. And it helps when you’re good friends with the local sheriff”.

He breathed a sigh of relief.

“He just took them in and raised them? Two boys he didn’t even know?”

“Don’t forget” his mother squeezed his hand as suddenly a light began to emanate from the top of her head, making it difficult to keep looking at her. “No matter how dark it gets, there’s always hope. Even in people”.

Sleepiness washed over him.

“Mom – “ he said, his eyes closing.

“Hush” She kissed his forehead.

“I love you, Castiel. Sleep well.”

His legs wouldn’t carry him anymore. He sank down and found himself in his bed.

He slept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have the time, leave a comment please, it would mean a lot to me!


	4. Chapter 4

He woke up, feeling disoriented and confused.

_You were dreaming. It’s the only explanation._

But he could still feel his mother’s arms around him, and he could remember everything. He didn’t usually.

_But it’s impossible. Your mother can’t have returned from the grave to show you – to show you –_

But he _remembered_. He remembered it now, that first Christmas without his parents, being comforted by Michael, and all the other times they had been there for each other before his big brother was absorbed by the company.                                    

And even at his most workaholic, Michael had still made sure they saw each other on their birthdays, and he’d had a front row seat for Castiel’s graduation.

_Michael._

He cried again, this time with no one there to comfort him.

He was late again to work the next day, and since he hadn’t slept for the rest of the night, he was tired, so tired that he didn’t deny anything anymore and only hoped that he could tell the next two ghosts politely that he wasn’t interested in their lessons.

“Mr. Novak?” Rachel asked him in the afternoon. “Are you sure you’re quite alright?”

He probably would have snapped at her – before.

“I am feeling a bit under the weather” he admitted. “I will feel better soon.”

She nodded and went back to work.

She still had dark shadows under her eyes, he thought as she hurried away.

When he finally went home, Dean was sitting at his cheerfully decorated desk.

And suddenly, all Castiel could see was the little boy, coughing up blood, trying to hide his batman comic before his father could completely rip it to pieces.

This time, he wanted his feet to carry him up to the night guard.

“Good evening.”

Dean raised his head and he realized he’d been reading.

“Mr. Novak – I – How can I help you?”

“I...” he trailed off. He had no idea what to say.

Even if Dean had told him about the abuse he had suffered, which was unlikely in itself, since he couldn’t win the trust of people easily, he wouldn’t have known how to respond.

“I wanted to apologize for my behaviour. You were nothing but friendly, and I – “

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m working here; there’s no reason for you to chat with me.”

“But I liked it” he answered without thinking, immediately blushing scarlet.

Dean blinked, then grinned.

“Alright, then. How was work?”

“Soul-crushingly boring.”

“I know the feeling” he said. “I’m sitting here waiting for stuff to happen, only the stuff that could happen would be bad.”

“What would you like to do?” he inquired.

Dean looked away.

“I... really like to cook” he replied eventually, as if it was a terrible confession to make. “I always wanted to check out culinary school.”

“Why don’t you?”

Only when Dean shot him an unimpressed look did he realize that not everyone had grown up with the same privileges he had.

“Sorry, I –“

“Nah, it’s okay. I probably would’ve sucked anyway.”

Castiel found that hard to believe, but he still allowed Dean to change the topic, and only made it back to his apartment two hours later, his heart beating heavily against his ribcage.

Dean had looked beautiful in the light that fell on his face from the desk lamp...

And his smile...

And his eyes...

And how he listened to Castiel...

He forced himself to make dinner.

Weeks passed. He and Dean talked at least an hour each evening, and sometimes, Castiel thought Dean wanted to lean in closer...

If he hadn’t been convinced that things would turn out bad if he chose to follow that path (they always did) he might have...

And then there came another night where Dean was absent due to “a family issue” as Mr. Turner put it, and when Castiel realized that it was Friday and he’d only see him on Monday, his heart sank.

Deep down, he knew that he was falling, and fast.

This time, he wasn’t surprised when he woke up at night. And it was only a week to Christmas. They really had to get their visits done soon, after all –

He realized who was looking at him, as pale as Michael and his mother had been.

“Rachel?”

“Rachel? Why are you – did you – “

The apparition smiled.

“The treatment is working already, I see. Don’t worry; Rachel is alright. As fine as she can be, given the circumstances.”

“What circumstances?” he asked, getting out of bed. If his mother’s ghost had taught him one thing, it was that he better not try and argue.

“You’ll see”.

She snapped her fingers.

The room dissolved into an unfamiliar apartment. Castiel looked around, and at first thought there was little to distinguish it from millions of others, until he saw the pictures.

Many, many pictures were strewn across the room, most showing the family of a young, familiar-looking woman. The question as to why she looked familiar was answered when Castiel spied her and Rachel on a picture together.

He’d never known Rachel had a sister.

“You never asked” her... not-ghost pointed out.

That was true, so he didn’t answer.

“It’s the present, by the way. But don’t worry, they can’t see us.”

Castiel smiled briefly as he imagined his secretary reacting to him suddenly appearing in her apartment.

Looking around, he realized there were no Christmas decoriations around. Which was rather odd, since he’d always considered Rachel a rather... cheerful person.

She entered the living room unexpectedly, looking worn out and wearing sweat pants and a t-shirt.

“I’m sorry Maggie... I tried.”

“That won’t do” her transparent doppelganger announced and snapped her fingers again.

Castiel found himself able to hear the other end of the conversation.

“Rachel. It could be Mom’s last year.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” she asked, tears in her eyes. “Who works all the time so we can even afford the doctors? And every time there is this supposed cure that’s apparently going to work miracles when we both know – ”

“RACHEL!”

She winced.

“I’m sorry, Maggie, i’m so sorry...”

“I’m sorry too, love” she said softly. “I didn’t mean it. We both didn’t. I’m so sorry.”

“I – I really wish... He never changes his opinion. Never.”

“Their mother has been ill for some time now. Rachel never gets to see her as much as she wants to”.

“I never knew... she never told me.”

“And when did you give the impression that you would be interested in hearing about her personal life?”

He shook his head.

_Don’t make chit-chat, Castiel. The employees won’t be expecting to hear you whining about your personal life._

But this Michael... this Michael whose voice he could always hear at the back of his mind when he was stepping out of his comfort zone... This Michael was no longer the Michael he remembered.

Now he remembered the brother who’d held him after their parents died.

“It must be very important to her to drive home” he said. Rachel had hung up the phone and was staring at a picture of her family.

“Do you want to know what makes it even worse? It’s that she was offered another job a few months ago.”

Castiel frowned. He was certain he would have heard if someone had tried to snatch away the best assistant he’s ever had.

“You never heard of the offer because she rejected it outright”. She was interrupted by Rachel’s phone ringing again. With a furious look he wouldn’t have expected of her, she took the call and snapped, “For the last time, I won’t work with the devil. I like my job. Go back to Hell.”

“Crowley?” he guessed. He’d noticed that Rachel always took care never to be alone with him.

“You know how stubborn he can be. His offer was good though. Some people are just too loyal for their own good.”

And he hadn’t even asked a long-time employee why she would suddenly need the time of. Or cared about how ragged she was looking.

She’d saved the company back when Michael had died. Before he’d managed to comprehend what had happened, Castiel hadn’t been able to work for weeks. Without her, all this would be long gone.

“I’m sorry.”

“You should tell her that.”

Rachel had gone into the kitchen and was making herself tea, ignoring the tears that were slowly sliding down her cheeks.

“But we don’t have time for this. We need to get going.”

She sounded exactly like Rachel when he was late for a meeting.

“Where?”

“Time to see what hides behind that big grin”.

And suddenly, he was looking at Dean.

This… was not what Castiel had been expecting. If he had even dared to expect anything at all, under the circumstances.

He was looking at a small house in one of the rougher neighbourhoods in town. Yet it was obviously well taken care off; there were even flowers in one of the windows. A Christmas wreath hung on the front door.

And yet even before they entered, he could hear shouting.

“You can’t keep doing this to yourself – “

“I’m an adult, I can do what I –“

“You’re about as far from an adult as –“

Then someone ran up the stairs and a door was slammed shut.

He knew better than to ask. Instead, he once more stepped through the door like a ghost.

Dean was sitting on the rather shabby-looking sofa in a nonetheless comfortable living room.

This wasn’t the Dean he’d slowly grown closer to, however. Or rather – he’d never seen him like this.

He’d buried his head in his hands, and he was shaking. Castiel couldn’t say whether he was crying or not, but he knew that he would do anything to make him feel better.

He hadn’t realized how far he was already beginning to...

“I’m home” a rough voice called out. It sounded familiar.

He realized why when Mr. Singer stepped into the room. Immediately the same worried expression he’d seen in the past crossed his face and he went up to Dean.

“What’s going on, boy?”

Dean made an obvious effort to pull himself together. But when he looked up, it was clear he had indeed been crying.

“He’s high again, Bobby. I tried to – he won’t listen. It was bad enough when he dropped out of law school, but now...” he trailed off.

“What did he take?” Mr. Singer asked with the expression of a man who’d demanded the same thing much too often.

“I have no idea. Doesn’t appear to be an overdose this time, at least.”

“Who –“ Castiel began to ask, but Rachel snapped her fingers again and they found themselves upstairs, where a young man was curled up on his bed, shivering.

He looked around and saw a picture of two small boys and Mr. Singer on a night stand.

“That’s Sam?”

Rachel nodded.

“He got into Stanford on a full ride, while Dean was constantly working to ensure they and Bobby had enough money to eat and keep a roof under their heads. Then he met the wrong people.”

“What does he take?”

“Usually it’s heroin. He’s tried Crystal Meth once or twice.”

Castiel thought of the small boy who’d tried to attack Mr. Singer because he’d thought he’d hurt his brother.

“Dean...”

“As you could see, it’s killing him.”

Another snap. Dean and Mr. Singer were sitting in the kitchen, drinking coffee. Dean was staring into his drink, the older man was studying him with a frown.

“Aren’t their programs?”

“The best ones – the ones where man people actually succeed – they are not cheap” she reminded him. “And don’t forget that the participants have to want to get clean. Sam is stubborn”.

“Cas told me about bees yesterday” Dean said abruptly, apparently trying to lighten the tension in the room.

Bobby scowled at him.

“Don’t think I ever heard Novak utter more words than “Good Evening” and that was when he was in a good mood.”

“You keep harping on him. He’s really not a bad guy.”

“I never said that. I’m just saying, I recognize lonely bastards when I see one. And that one time, when Rufus collapsed and got a peace maker? Says Novak was the one to call 911 because he accidentally arrived when he keeled over. Apparently guy stayed as cold as a fish”.

Castiel remembered that. He’d been doing his best to reassure Mr. Turner that all would be well, when he really didn’t think it would.

“He’s not. He’s just... weird and dorky, that’s all”.

Rachel’s apparition looked at Castiel as if he was supposed to realize something.

He didn’t.

She sighed, then snapped her fingers a final time.

And it all went dark.

When he woke up, it was still night time, and he was lying in his bed. 

He didn’t sleep. He stared at the ceiling and thought of what he’d seen.

The next day, he and Rachel were busy preparing the next conference when she recalled she had to fetch a folder from her office and excused herself.

Castiel remembered a phone call.

“Rachel” he called her back. She immediately turned around.

“Do you still want to go on vacation during the holidays?”

When she left ten minutes later, her visit to her mother guaranteed, a big smile on her face, he realized he felt good.

It had been a long time since he’d made someone else happy.


	5. Chapter 5

He almost missed another attempt from Dick Roman to discredit his firm, but only almost. Michael had taught him well after all.

He kept getting distracted by thoughts of Dean. Dean, after having raised his brother when he himself had been too small to properly reach the kitchenette, only to watch him sink into addiction. Dean, who even with a well-meaning adoptive father didn’t have the means to do what he wished, or help his brother.

 _Dean_.

He couldn’t deny that he was attracted to the man – no, no, that wasn’t true.

He couldn’t deny that he was about to feel much more for Dean than he was prepared too.

And who even said that Dean would welcome his advances, not that he ever wanted to tell him –

He couldn’t. Castiel had only just started to get out of his shell, in the hope that Michael would benefit from it, and perhaps the feeling that he had indeed been living too cut-off from mankind, and he didn’t think his lack of social skills would succeed with someone like...

As he had expected, Dean looked downcast and uncomfortable when he returned home that night. He hoped Sam had calmed down, but he couldn’t ask.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Hey, Mr. Novak.”

Castiel cleared his throat. He could do this. He could be Dean’s friend, the friend he needed.

And maybe, Michael would be absolved and he would be spared the visit of the third ghost.

He didn’t care about that at this moment in time, though. No, in this very second, he would have welcomed a thousand ghosts more if it could only have taken the burden from Dean’s shoulders.

He gently put a hand on his arm.

“I’m sorry, Dean. For whatever has happened. And I want you to know that – I’m here for you, if you – want to talk.”

Dean blinked, surprised, then gave him a small, genuine smile.

“Thanks, Cas. That means a lot”.

For a second, his eyes darted to Cas’ lips.

_Oh._

So that was what the talk between Mr. Singer and Dean had been about.

Dean _liked_ him.

Dean was attracted to him after all.

It was enough of a warning sign that he took a small step back and let his hand fall off his arm, although he still stayed near enough to provide comfort.

It was better this way. He wasn’t a people person; he and Dean were too different. Dean would find someone who deserved him, and he’d be content to be his friend.

Dean had taken the rejection well, it appeared. He smiled again, somewhat brighter than before.

Castiel told himself that he was just imagining it looked a little flat.

“It’s just... family issues. My brother... has problems”.

He sighed.

“Big problems. Drugs. And no matter what I say, there’s nothing... I just want him to get better.”

“I’m sure you’re doing all you can” Cas assured him.

“It’s not enough. It never is.”

Dean blinked to dispel the tears in his eyes.

“Thank you – Mr. Novak”.

He assumed the slight pause before his name meant that Dean had almost called him “Cas”, and for a moment he was tempted to ask him to.

But no; it would be better if they kept some distance between them. Even though he had learned that it might be a good idea to open himself up to others, he was bound to make many mistakes at first, and the last thing he wanted was to hurt Dean.

* * *

 

This guy was going to give him whiplash one of these days. For a moment there he had actually thought...

_Yeah, right. Because the millionaire with the valuable family business would ever be interested in you._

Cas had surprised him, though. When he had taken over the job from Bobby, relieved that he’d finally found new work after being laid off at the garage, he’d prepared Dean that “some of the tenants are pretty big bastards, and be careful around that Novak fellow. He almost got another guard fire once because he complained to the owner”.

What he hadn’t told Dean was that Novak was, well –

Pretty freaking hot when it came down to it.

Not that Dean was so unprofessional that he would ever actually have hit on one of the tenants. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t look.

Plus, at first, Mr. Novak didn’t seem to have anything against small talk. So no harm done, right?

And then of course he must have overdone it, because it became pretty clear that Cas, no, Mr. Novak didn’t want anything to do with him.

That of course opened the very real possibility that he might complain about him, and Dean spent the next few days fretting about it.

Sam would probably have asked him what was wrong if his little brother didn’t spend most of his time these days in a daze of either withdrawal or being on drugs.

God knew where he got the money to purchase them. Dean knew he hadn’t taken any of their household money, or from his wallet.

It helped him a little to know Sam hadn’t sunken that far yet.

Sometimes he thought it was only a matter of time.

If only he’d realized. If only he’d listened to his instincts when he’d started to feel that something was wrong, and had driven down to Stanford as everything in him had been screaming to. But no, instead he’d told himself that Sammy had a right to have fun and only call once a week. He was probably busy with studying, and he certainly wouldn’t force him to talk to him.

Sam wouldn’t come home for the holidays that year. Bobby and Dean spent a quiet Christmas together, both pretending they weren’t worried. It didn’t work too well.

And then Sam had called, just after New Year’s, and let Dean know he’d “drop by” soon.

Any joy he’d felt at the news had vanished the second he opened the door to his brother.

Dean’s upbringing hadn’t been the best until he met Bobby. He knew what it was like to search for food in dumpster’s he wasn’t even tall enough to properly look in yet.

What he meant was that he had seen enough junkies in his life time.

And to look at Sam and see the same symptoms he’d witnessed on others –

It was almost too much.

He let him in, and only afterwards did he learn that Sam was not desperate to recover, but rather tired of the few true friends he’d made at college trying to drag him out of the mess. And nothing Dean said could or would get him to see reason.

He was starting to fear that he’d already lost his brother, and the knowledge that he could very well lose his job within a few short weeks didn’t help.

Thankfully Cas – Mr. Novak apparently didn’t have a problem with him after all.

The consequence of that was, however, that they talked.

And as a result of said talk Dean’s pathetic little crush was growing with no signs of this stopping anytime soon.

It wasn’t his fault that the guy was freaking _cute_ , okay? This big bad millionaire who started going nuts the one time Dean mentioned they’d been to a museum (he’d dragged Sam there in an attempt to remember the bond they had, but naturally it hadn’t worked), going on and on about certain paintings and why Vermeer was the most underrated genius in the world. When Dean had objected that he had probably painted the most valuable picture in the world, he’d just kept telling him all about composition and colours and all that other stuff Dean didn’t really get.

Always the hot nerds. What could he say, he had a type.

But now, when he’d been about to –

Good thing Cas drew back, really. It would have been awkward as hell if they had to navigate their... whatever it was anew after Dean planted one on him.

Which he totally didn’t still want to do. Nope.

He sighed. He should really get up and start dinner, instead of just sitting in the kitchen, staring at the table.

“Dean?”

He was surprised to hear Sam call out for him. He raised his head to find him in the doorway.

“Are you alright?”

He swallowed, trying to hide his shock at the question.

“You know me, Sammy, I’m always fine.”

Sam’s expression, his eyes clear for once, thank God, tells him he doesn’t believe him.

“Should I order takeout?” he asked.

Dean nodded gratefully.

At least for one evening, they could be okay.

* * *

 

Treading the fine line of trying to be there for Dean while keeping his attraction to him in check proved difficult, but not impossible.

Mostly, he needed someone to lean on to, someone to listen to him, and Castiel could eagerly provide that. So what if he spent most of his evenings talking to the night guard? He didn’t have anything else to do anyway.

One month ago, he would have been shocked at himself.

Maybe, now and then, he wished that he would be spared the last visit. He had changed already, hadn’t he?

And he knew what would come.

Past and Present.

He only had to see the Future now.

But he very much didn’t want to. The future hadn’t happened yet, and technically, he had no guarantee that what he saw would even happen; it was the future after all.

In fact, why would Michael even think about showing him the future when he was already working on changing?

“Sam has been doing well” Dean told him excitedly on the 22nd of December. “He hasn’t taken anything in days.”

After what he had seen, Castiel thought it unlikely that Sam would suddenly experience a change of heart and get clean in a matter of days, but that was not what Dean needed to hear right now, he was sure, so he just smiled and nodded.

“Don’t get me wrong, I know it’s a long way to go, but it’s a start” Dean continued.

“It is”.

They were standing in front of Dean’s desk, the night guard having stood up because “It ain’t fair to keep you standing there for hours, man”.

He’d assured Dean he had no problems with it, but as he could have expected, the man had had none of it.

“Do you want coffee?” Castiel asked. It had become another habit of his to offer, and although Dean made a show of it every time, he was sure his... friend appreciated it.

“You really don’t have to, Mr. Novak...”

He hadn’t yet called him by his first name, although in private he’d even used a nickname – what had it been again? Cas. Yes, that was it.

_It would be really nice to hear him say it again._

 Castiel chased the thought away, well aware why he wanted Dean to say the nickname out loud, and turned to get the coffee.

When he returned, Dean was reading at his desk again. He put the book away immediately upon his approach, and Castiel wondered why he was always so reluctant to let him see what exactly he was perusing; but it was hardly his place to ask. If Dean wanted him to know, he’d tell him.

So they made small talk for a while longer until Castiel finally retired to his apartment.

He could safely say the last thing he had expected was to find his last visitor casually sitting on his couch, drinking a scotch, while looking as transparent and otherworldly as the other ghosts.

And he knew this face too.

“Well, Castiel” Crowley said, “when you half-ass it, you half-ass it all the way”.  


	6. Chapter 6

“Mr. Crowley –“

“Oh, will you stop it already? Everyone just calls me Crowley”. He paused. “Well, living breathing human me, that is. The point stands.”

“You are the ghost who will show me the future?” Castiel asked, confused. His mother and Rachel had made sense, at least.

“As a matter of fact, yes. Surprise: Showing someone the future isn’t exactly as pleasant a task as making them watch their memories with tears in their eyes. It’s a job for a bastard.”

“You fit the role, then.”

“Always knew you had it in you, Castiel. Let’s go”.

“I’d rather not –“

“Too bad.”

They were standing... in the reception hall of the apartment building. He recognized the guard on the desk as a woman he’d seen once or twice when he had left the office earlier to change his clothes for an event. The Christmas decorations had been taken down.

“When are we?” Castiel asked hesitantly.

“Two weeks from now” Crowley said cheerfully.

Whatever he was about to show him, it couldn’t be good. Not when he was in such a happy mood.

“Wait” he said suddenly. “Are you showing me what will – what could have happened if I hadn’t worked on changing? Or are you – “

Crowley snorted. “Oh yeah, real big changes you made there. Dean gets coffee and a few words when you manage to open your mouth. The participation trophy is yours already.”

“I don’t see – “ he began to protest.

“The idea was that you would learn to open yourself up, not slightly extend your boundaries because you’re scared. You’re still very much in your comfort zone, and it was boring as Hell to watch your life in order to prepare myself for what I had to do – seriously, you get the same thing to eat every week?”

“There is nothing wrong with routine – “

“There’s routine, and then there’s acting like you have OCD when you don’t, darling. Now shut up and no more arguing.”

He took a step away from Crowley. It was bad enough to deal with this man when they were working together.

Then Dean entered the building and he forgot all about the ghost.

Dean looked awful. He’d lost weight and looked like he hadn’t shaved in a few days.

“Hi, Donna.”

“Dean.” She mustered him with a worried expression, then announced, with the freedom a long friendship brought, “You look like Hell”.

“Feel like it, too” he replied tiredly.

“Want to talk about it?”

Dean just shook his head.

Castiel frowned.

“Dean likes talking about... things” he said. “He’s always telling me – “

“You, my friend, are helpless”.

He waited for Crowley to add something more, but the apparition remained silent.

Donna left, assuring Dean that she always had an open ear in case he changed his mind, and he waved her goodbye with a small that dropped as soon as she was out of the door.

He sat down on the desk, starring at it with an empty look in his eyes that scared Castiel.

Then he saw himself enter the building.

“When is this?” he demanded again.

“You are a fussy one” the ghost sighed. “Fine. Not that far. Only about a year plus a few weeks from now.”

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean looked up. Castiel was surprised his future self didn’t take a step back. Then he saw the surprise and worry in his eyes. To anyone else though, he must look incredibly passive.

“Mr. Novak” he greeted him with a small smile.

Too small and too forced.

It was a miracle Dean even talked to him as much as he did. He looked completely uninterested as he asked, “Is something wrong?”

“Pro tip for communication: emoting is necessary.”

“I can hardly be held responsible for – “

“Did you even try to show more emotions while you were on your holier-than-thou-look-at-me-i-am-working-so-hard-trip?”

He was beginning to get a headache.

“Never mind, I’ve had worse to deal with. Should have seen the time I put on a robe to scare that old miser”.

“It’s Sam” Dean said, distracting him from Crowley.

“He’s getting worse. I thought it was bad before, but...” he trailed off. His gaze dropped to the desk again.

Castiel could see that his future self was trying to find something comforting to say, but only because he knew his own face. He knew that he cared as he finally told Dean he was sorry and offered coffee; but Dean, who nodded and watched him go with a longing stare...

Longing for a connection. Longing for Castiel to step out of his shell long enough to actually have a real conversation, deeper than any they had shared before. 

“You do realize that sometimes, you need to take a bit more of a chance than clapping someone’s shoulder when they look sad, right?”

He didn’t answer.

“But let’s move on to cheerier things“.

Castiel definitely didn’t like the smile on Crowley’s face as he said this.

“Want to see your Christmas? You know what, why not make it the same year. Fast forward eleven months and...”

There he was, in his apartment. It looked like the Christmas Eves that had gone before, and were sure to follow after. He was reading on his couch.

 Crowley was watching him.

“Seriously? And you call yourself a changed man? Look at this! It’s freaking depressing!”

“I love reading.”

“He loves...” He shook his head. “I am not going to discuss this with you. Let’s just check out some other Christmases, yes?”

All in all, Castiel reflected as the hair of his future self slowly turned grey, it wasn’t too bad. Yes, he did spent his time alone, but –

There was a feeling in his chest, heavy, almost suffocating.

“Ah, about time you feel it. Guess you can get so used to loneliness you don’t realize it anymore. Good to know”.

Had he been lonely? Was he lonely? Michael had taught him there was a difference between being alone and lonely, and...

He was.

He was very lonely.

So lonely that he was watching himself all alone at Christmas thirty years from now. Nothing has changed.

“Got it?” Crowley asked brightly. Castiel shot him an angry look.

“Hey, not my fault you decided to become a hermit.”

“I am not a hermit. Hermits are those who...”

“Guess what, angel. Not interested. But as a matter of fact, now that you had your great epiphany, any chance your great big romance can take off?”

“There is no romance” he said firmly, although he was looking at his older self and imagining an equally aged Dean, side by side with his hus-

“So you’re not thinking of a certain green-eyes beauty right now? I have to admit, you may be a stubborn bastard, but you’ve got taste”.

Castiel shook his head. Crowley would take his words and spin them to fit his own interpretation, no matter what he said.

“Anyway, let’s see how this is going, hm?”

By “this” he obviously meant his non-existent relationship with Dean. In the next minute, they were standing in the entrance hall again, at a non-specified point in time; although Dean didn’t look much older than he was, so it was probably only a few years at the most.

That said, he was clearly troubled and uncomfortable and kept glancing at his watch and his phone.

It rang. He picked up immediately.

“Have you found him, Bobby?” He listened to the obviously negative answer.

“I could help – no, no, I know I need this job, I know – just – call me as soon as you find him, yeah? Thanks”.

He hung up without a goodbye.

Castiel glanced at Crowley.

“You can probably guess” the ghost replied, looking bored.

“Sam?”

“And the winner is...”

At this point, Castiel was distracted by himself once more entering the building.

“Hello, Dean.”

“I – “ he looked flustered and confused, shook his head and laid his phone down on the desk.

“Good evening, Mr. Novak. How was work?”

It gave him some comfort that at least their... whatever they shared had involved so far as to allow Dean to inquire about his day more specifically than he had done before.

“All went well. It was a remarkably stress-free day.”

“Good to hear one of us still has those” Dean commented. He might have been smiling, but was obviously carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. Not to mention what he had just now admitted.

“Ask him” Castiel implored his future self. “He’s obviously under duress.”

But the image before him remained as stoic as always, only offering Dean the usual phrases and the coffee, which was accepted.

“Why doesn’t he ask?”

“Maybe you don’t often ask people how they’re doing. Ever thought of that?”

“I’m trying to do my best” he replied, getting defensive.

He was. He had sound reasons not to show Dean how much he had grown to mean to him.

“You mean you found some justifications for your fears, so you do nothing.”

It was not very comforting to realize Crowley could read his thoughts.

“But I can’t help his brother! Even if I were to... make advances... what good could it possibly do Dean?”

The apparition blinked slowly. “You really think that? I might not be an expert in romantic relationships, but I do think that even you should realize anyone dealing with something like this could use all the support he can get.”

“And that’s why I’m staying away! He can find someone, someone who can actually give him comfort, and – “

Crowley, who’d listened to him with a bored expression on his face, brightened up. Castiel, who’d soon realized what that meant (both in his professional life and during this strange experience, immadeitly grew wary).

“I have an idea”.

Crowley was still smiling pleasantly.

“Why not see someone else’s celebration? We can always check on Dean. Imagine you’re interested in that.”

The house he once more stood in had changed drastically, and it wasn’t the furniture. No, it was the _feeling_ of the place. Before, there had been tension, yes; but also affection and the comfort of home.

Now, it was cold and dark, dreary even; he could see neither the brothers nor Mr. Singer, and for a moment he wondered if they’d moved out, but then he saw the coats on the hanger.

“You said it’s Christmas...” he began, looking around. There was no decoration in sight.

“It is, Sherlock. Want to investigate?”

Castiel rolled his eyes and brushed past Crowley to look for Dean.

He found him in the kitchen, holding a glass of scotch in one hand and a picture in the other. There were tears running down his cheeks. He paid them no attention.

He looked worse than Castiel had ever seen him, worse than when he’d told him about his brother’s addiction, worse even when he’d told him about the apparent relapse – or had it been another overdose, his future self hadn’t inquired, of course not, he thought bitterly, but what would –

The realization struck him.

“No.”

He looked at Crowley.

“Oh God, no.”

“What did you expect to happen? You must have known where this was going.”

“But Dean would have done everything to help him – “

As if to confirm Castiel’s words, Dean began to speak.

“You dumb son of a bitch. You didn’t even think about us, did you? You didn’t care. You just wouldn’t stop and no matter what I said you – and now what i’m supposed to do, hm? Just sit around and wait to die?”

The terrible suspicion that Dean was contemplating suicide flashed through his mind, but thankfully he continued, “I would do anything to see you again, Sammy. You know that, right? But I can’t do it to Bobby. I can’t. And even if I – “

Dean’s shoulders started to shake. He squeezed his eyes shut as he began to sob.

It was the moment Mr. Singer entered the house.

“Dean? Where are you, boy?”

Dean darted to the sink and made a desperate attempt to make himself look presentable in the few seconds it took his adoptive father to find him.

“Dean...”

Dean didn’t turn around. He stood there, hands on the sides of the sink, staring into the darkness outside.

“I know it’s – “ Bobby broke off. There were tears in his eyes too.

“He wouldn’t want you to this to yourself.”

“Wouldn’t he?” Dean muttered. “He did such an admirable job on himself, maybe he’d – “

“Stop that.”

Bobby put a hand on Dean’s shoulder.

“Please. You knew your brother. It was the drugs who made him say all that stuff, and you know it.”

“I’d like to” Dean mumbled. He downed the rest of the whiskey.

“I gotta go to work in...” he glanced at his watch.

“You’re not going. I can take your shift”.

“You’re retired” Dean pointed out.

“And you think I care about that? You need to look after yourself. I can’t lose – “ Bobby took a deep breath. “Just – look after yourself, Dean. Please.”

This time, Dean allowed himself to sob in the arms of his adoptive father.

This was wrong. This was an intimate family moment, a family struck with grief, still unable to comprehend the fate that had befallen them, and Castiel was forced to watch.

Dean’s eyes had never looked so lifeless. And Mr. Singer too, who’d been so kind to take in two boys he didn’t know, who’d watched them grow and loved them and had been proud of them, only to have one of them succumb to addiction and the other...

“Will he be okay?” he asked, only to regret it when Crowley answered, “We can always check on Dean’s progress.”

“What for? Even if I – I can’t do anything to help his brother! Sam didn’t want to help himself! What would me being with Dean change?”

“What wouldn’t it change? You seem not to understand that every decision we make affects people around us. Like when you don’t get the coffee you want because they’re out of almond milk and your lovely secretary has to bear with your bad mood.”

There was no point in answering that.

Mr. Singer left soon afterwards, eying the half-full bottle of whiskey in the kitchen as he said goodbye to Dean.

The younger man noticed the glance, but said nothing.

Yet, when he was gone, Dean grabbed the bottle and poured the content in the sink.

“I promise I won’t be like him, Sammy” he vowed. “No matter what.”

It was obvious who he was talking about.

“Clearly you are right, and this is not a man anyone would wish to be romantically entangled with.”

“I never said – “

“You know what, I think we should make sure Mr. Singer came to work alright.”

And they were still where they had been before, the only place he’d ever really interacted with Dean. Castiel was growing rather tired of the entrance hall. Surely he and Dean could go somewhere else to talk, maybe a nice restaurant –

“That’s the spirit. Now, if you could actually believe that, my job would be done so...”

“Would you stop reading my thoughts?”

“Only when you actually start to pay attention to them, kitten.”

“When are we?” Castiel snapped.

“Not that far away from the last time. Two weeks.”

That explained why the Dean who was slowly making his way to his desk looked like he hadn’t slept in a long time. He must have come in late on purpose to avoid Donna, since he looked relieved when he didn’t see her sitting there.

He sat down and took a few slow, deep breaths as if to calm himself down.

It was a sad sight, and Castiel yearned to take him in his arms.

“Sorry, can’t have that. I think he would be a little spooked if you suddenly became visible”.

He didn’t even bestow a single glance at Crowley. Instead, he was focused on Dean and the signs of grief and hurt he was clearly displaying.

Abd then, just as he thought it couldn’t get any worse, his future self opened the door.

He quickly concluded that it was the first time he’d seen him since his brother died; there was no other explanation for the horror in his eyes as he took in the changes in Dean.

He tentatively made his way to the desk.

“Dean?”

“Mr. Novak” he said, sitting up straighter.

“How – “ He paused. “Mr. Singer told me what happened.”

Dean looked away.

“I’m... very sorry. I can’t begin to say what...” he was clearly struggling, and Dean looked up again, a soft smile on his face.

“Thank you.”

For some reason, until now he hadn’t realized that Dean was the only one who could read him.

“I noticed that too. You never wondered why he even talked to you in the first place? I’d tell you how pathetic you are, but thankfully you already have the proof in front of you.”

“Shut up, Crowley.”

“I am here to help you, remember?”

“I just – I know how much your brother meant to you” his future self continued somewhat more confidently since he had at least made Dean smile. “I – I lost my brother too”.

“I never knew – shit, Cas, I’m sorry – “

Just like Dean to immediately push his own grief away and try to comfort him over Michael’s death. And he’d even used his first name. Castiel would have liked to bask in the knowledge, but a sense of foreboding kept him from it.

To his surprise, his future self stepped up to the night guard and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“It happened seven years ago. You are more important.”

For a moment, he was actually proud of himself.

Then, Dean decided to take a chance.

They were staring at one another. His eyes travelled down to Cas lips.

Two weeks after he lost his brother, Dean Winchester finally kissed Castiel Novak.

For a moment, his future self responded, kissed back, and he wanted this, he hoped –

But it didn’t play out that way. He gently pushed Dean away.

“Dean, I don’t think this is a good idea. You’re upset, and only engaging in sexual acts for comfort won’t help you.”

He thought Dean didn’t want him, Castiel realized. And before this, before he had seen how well Dean understood him, he would have made the same mistake.

Dean of course understood what he was saying differently. He didn’t hear _I don’t want to use you in a difficult moment_ , he didn’t hear _I wish we could continue this under different circumstances but I’m not good enough for you._ He heard _I don’t want you._

He took a step back, looking panicked.

“I’m – I’m terribly sorry Mr. Novak, I don’t know what came over me, I haven’t been the same since Sammy died, I – “

“Dean, it is quite alright” Castiel answered. “We’ll never speak of it again.”

And with this rather patronizing reaction, he bade him good night.

He never saw Dean’s crestfallen expression, nor did he hear him curse himself “You freaking idiot” under his breath.

“His brother died and he got his heart broken within a month. Lovely.”

“It’s not over, we can talk – “

“Because you are so good at that.”

Castiel remained silent.

“My time’s almost up” Crowley said casually, “but thankfully I get to show you the end of this sweeping romance.”

And with that, the scene before them changed and they ended in a place where Castiel decidedly didn’t want to be. 

“What are we doing here?“ he demanded.

“Nothing to be scared of here, kitten. Just a few dead bodies. It happens to us all. Or rather, you all.”

Castiel looked around the cemetery.

“When – “

“About fifty years from your time.”

Surprisingly, he grew angry when he realized what was about to happen.

“What is the point of showing me my grave? Like you said: It happens to us all. And yes, you have shown me that I’ll grow old alone – “

“Still not the point. Come on.”

He followed Crowley through the rows of headstones, his hands buried in his trench coat.

Soon, they reached an open grave, a coffin being lowered into the ground. Rachel was there, as well as a priest; but apart from that, no one was to be seen.

It stung a little to know that no one even wanted to visit his funeral, but there was no shame in having lived alone. He didn’t know what had happened in the preceding years; he might well have been happy; and if he hadn’t had Dean, at least he’d saved him from a relationship with an awkward introvert who couldn’t even let people know he was interested.

“When are you going to get it?” Crowley groaned. “I swear to God, if this attempt fails too – “

In this moment, the priest spoke, saving Castiel from having to reply.

“I assume that most people wouldn’t want to visit a funeral today of all days – “

“Yes, him dying so shortly before Christmas probably didn’t help” Rachel said with a sad smile, “but the truth is, I was all he had, and I was only his assistant.”

The priest looked taken aback and gave her his condolences.

“Thank you”. Her gaze wandered to the coffin in the still-open grave. “He wasn’t as bad as people say he was, you know. He was reserved, and never did understand a single joke in his life, but he was fair. He could even be kind on occasion. He actually... left everything to me.”

Castiel smiled. Yes. Rachel deserved the firm.

“Too bad her family doesn’t speak to her anymore, I’m sure she would happily use the money for her nieces and nephews now.”

“What do you mean, her family doesn’t speak to her anymore?”

“You really think that one little vacation and the few others you allowed her to take made much of a difference? Your PA is too loyal, Castiel. Always has been. And now she’s ended up like you, just as lonely and rich.”

Castiel looked at the woman who had bowed her head to say a prayer for him and swallowed.

The scene vanished. They were still standing in front of his grave, but it was closed; the sun was setting.

Steps behind them broke the silence.

Castiel gasped as he turned around.

Dean.

Dean, old and grey and still as stunning as he had always been, even if the light in his eyes had dimmed.

He was carrying...

A single red rose.

“Hey, Cas” he said once he’d reached the grave.

“Hope you don’t mind me visiting. Or me calling you Cas, for that matter.”

He played around with the rose in his hands.

“Didn’t feel like I had any right to come to your funeral. We weren’t friends or anything like that, even though I once tried – you were great, then. Really. You could have had me fired so damn quickly, but you never said a word about it.”

“So much for talking” Crowley commented cheerfully.

“I just... I wanted to thank you, and not just for that. You were just – you listened to me, man. You listened to my ramblings and you brought me coffee and that helped me get through so many bad days, especially after Sam died...”

The grief had softened over the years, but it was easy to see he still missed his brother as much as ever.

“And then of course...” he chuckled, the amused laughter of an old man mocking the wishes of his youth.

“I used to have so many nightmares, before and after. But you know what? You were the good dreams.”

He gently laid the rose down in front of the headstone.

“Goodbye, Cas”.

As he walked away, Castiel said quietly, “He’s not wearing a wedding ring.”

“He’s not married.”

“So he’s all alone?”

“Being alone doesn’t mean being lonely” Crowley quoted him cheerfully.

“But...” He trailed off. Dean wasn’t supposed to be alone. Dean wasn’t supposed to live by himself in an empty home, only filled with the memories of those who had gone before him. Dean deserved everything.

A home. A family.

Love.

And in this moment, he knew that he was the one who wanted to give it all to Dean. The one he woke up to and fell asleep with. The one who treated him like he deserved.

No matter what happened, he’d do everything to make it happen.

“Hallelujah!” Crowley shouted, scaring him. “My work here is done! I can finally go back to H- well, it’s not important. Goodbye, Castiel. Full offense, but I hope to see you never again.”

When he blinked, he was sitting upright in his bed.

His alarm was ringing.

It was the day before Christmas Eve. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't miss the last chapter, which will be posted on Christmas Day!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it. I hope you enjoyed the story, and have a VERY MERRY CHRISTMAS AND HAPPY HOLIDAYS!!!!!!!!!

The Castiel Novak who ventured into work that morning was a different Castiel Novak than had left it last night. Not only did he wear a bright smile on his face, but the pure hope of loving and being beloved in return, no matter how long it would take, seemed to light his eyes with a friendliness and conviviality they had rarely shown before; and many of his employees were confused and surprised upon being greeted cheerfully, and informed that from Christmas Eve until the morning of the 27th, no one should be caught at work.

Rachel came to meet him halfway to his office, having been alerted by the others that something strange must have occurred.

“Good morning, Rachel. Did you hear – “

“Yes, I did. Good morning, Mr. Novak.”

She turned and accompanied him to his office.

“Are you going to spend Christmas with your family?” he inquired. She brightened up instantly.

“Oh yes, my plane goes this evening actually, thank you again for –“

“There’s nothing to thank me for. And if you should ever feel that you wanted to see them again, let me know. I’ll be able to do without you for a few days if it means you can visit your relatives.”

She was too astonished to speak, but glowed with happiness.

It was her easy smile that allowed him to overcome his fear and inquire, slowly, “Rachel... if it’s... could I ask you a personal question?”

“Of course.”

“If...” he cleared his throat. “If there was someone I was interested in... what would be the proper way to “woo” them”.

She sniggered; he assumed because of the air quotes he’d use.

“Is that the same man who put that smile on your face?”

He had never let her know that he was homosexual, but apparently he didn’t need to.  

He nodded.

“And do you know if that person is interested or not?”

He fiddled around with his fingers.

“I... do have the feeling that he finds me... attractive” he said slowly.

She smiled.

“Just ask him out, then. Trust me: if someone you like does it, it doesn’t matter if he’s stuttering or feeling awkward.”

Castiel nodded. He was well aware that there was no magical recipe he could use, but he’d hoped there was a trick of some sort to make him look more charming than he was.

The hours seemed to fly and drag at the same time; and the later it got, the more nervous he became. Rachel’s knowing smiles made things worse; she did do her best to boost his self-confidence throughout the day, however. He really had never shown her quite how much he appreciated to have her as his PA and... friend, he hoped.

By the time he returned home, his heart was hammering in his chest and his palms were wet with sweat.

Dean looked much the same as he had the last time he saw him; hopefully he and his brother hadn’t had another fight.

He approached the desk and tried to look relaxed.

“Hello, Dean.”

To see these green eyes glowing with life’s again caused the warm feeling in his chest to swell.

“Good evening, Mr. Novak.”

“How are you?” he asked.

“I’m good”. He grinned. “What about you?”

“I... had a good day.” He hoped.

Looking straight into Dean’s eyes, he forced himself to continue.

“Dean, I was wondering if you – would do me the honour – that is, if you could – would want to – I’d –“

He broke off, feeling like a fool.

“Ahm... I didn’t quite get that.”

“Would you like to go out with me?” he blurted out.

Dean stared at him.

“Like... a date?”

He nodded.

Dean blinked. Looked away. Castiel’s heart sank.

“I – sure”.

“Yes?” he asked. He’d been so sure Dean would say no just a moment ago.

Now, though, he was grinning happily.

“Hell yes.”

“Oh”.

He realized he had made no other plans than to ask Dean out. Was he supposed to make a suggestion? Should they come up with an idea together?

Dean thankfully took pity on him.

“Say, Cas... what are you doing tomorrow?”

At first he was too much in awe of finally being called Cas to realize what he meant.

Christmas Eve.

“Nothing.”

Dean frowned.

“You have no family – “

“not anymore” he said quickly. That was a story for another day.

Dean understood.

“So... do you want to come to our place?”

Dean wanted him to meet his family? Already? Shouldn’t that come later?

“Won’t I... be in the way?”

“Nah. You won’t. We don’t do much anyway, we drink eggnog and watch Christmas movies.”

It sounded better than any Christmas he’d had in years.

“Unless...” Dean’s eyes left his fro the first time since he’d asked him out. “You know about my brother. If it makes you uncomfortable – “

“No” he interrupted him, taking his hand. He was amazed at his own bravery.

“I would love to meet your family, Dean.”

And Dean’s whole shift, despite his protests, was spent with Cas at his side, holding his hand and making small talk about everything and nothing.

* * *

 

He didn’t sleep in the next day, but he wasn’t feeling even a bit tired when he got up. He’d spend the day with Dean, after all.

He was expected at three pm for a “late lunch” as his date – his _date_ – had called it.

Just as well; he didn’t want to show up completely empty-handed, and he was more than ready to braze the crowds for _his date_.

Castiel knew he was acting like a schoolgirl with a crush. He couldn’t find it in himself to care. He was happier than he had been in a long time.

He looked so happy, in fact, that several people on the street spontaneously wished him “Happy Holidays”; and when he finally showed up at Dean’s doorstep, the house looking just like it had when Rachel had brought him here, he had been smiling for hours.

Dean opened the door so quickly that he had the feeling he’d only been waiting for him.

“Hi, Cas – I said you didn’t have to bring anything!”

“I wasn’t going to show up without presents” he replied simply. “Hello, Dean.”

Dean smiled softly at him. His eyes travelled down to Castiel’s mouth.

He stood completely still as Dean licked his own lips, his gaze still on his –

“Are you going to invite your boyfriend in or are you going to let him freeze, jerk?” a voice he recognized as Sam’s called out.

Dean coloured but shouted back, “Don’t tell me how to romance a guy, bitch”, beckoning Cas in.

He had been slightly worried how they would welcome him, but both Bobby and Sam were very friendly to him during lunch. True, sometimes he could feel the older man staring at him, and he couldn’t blame him, if he really thought him a “cold bastard”; but when he took Dean’s hand and he winked at Cas, he saw a happy smile on Bobby’s face as well.

Like Dean had told him, they didn’t do much – they mostly hung around in the living room, watching television; but he and Dean were sitting close on the couch, and he put his arm around Cas, and it was everything he’d ever wished for.

Bobby and Sam eventually decided to go take care of the dishes, and no matter how he tried, they insisted that, instead of helping, he should stay in the living room with Dean.

Since it wasn’t exactly against his wishes to do so, he decided to stop protesting.

He felt a brief surge of worry as he watched Sam walk away. This was obviously a very bright young man who’d made some bad decisions; as such, he warranted even more interest than Dean’s brother would have got simply from that fact alone.

He would dearly love to help him, if he was allowed. Maybe, if things went well, he could eventually broach the subject of money with Dean, and he could pay for –

“Hey Cas?” Dean whispered.

“Yes?”

“Look up.”

When he raised his head, he saw the mistletoe that had been hung there.

Sam and Bobby’s withdrawal appeared to have been tactical.

Dean cupped his face with his right hand.

“Is this okay?” he asked.

As an answer, Cas moved forward to press his lips against Dean’s.

It was everything he had ever imagined, and more. As he drew Dean closer, he felt _whole_ for the first time in almost thirty years.

They didn’t know that both Bobby and Sam let the dishes alone for a moment to spy on them, and neither did they hear the older man whisper “I guess he’s not so bad after all”.

And if they had, it wouldn’t have mattered to them.

* * *

 

Castiel rarely remembered his dreams, but this one would stay with him for the rest of his life.

_“Hello, Castiel”._

_It was Michael; well and healthy-looking. He ran into his arms._

_“Michael” he breathed._

_He squeezed, then let him go gently._

_“I am proud of you. It’s not easy to open oneself up to others”._

_“But rewarding” Cas answered, thinking of the man he was currently sleeping next to._

_Michael smiled._

_“I am glad you learned that lesson in time. I didn’t.”_

_Cas’ smile faded._

_“Michael...”_

_“Don’t be sad. I came here to tell you I was rewarded for your efforts. I am going to Heaven, Castiel. I’ll see Mom and Dad again.”_

_He blinked away happy tears._

_“I am glad. Tell them I love them.”_

_“I will. And Castiel... make us wait for you as long as you can, alright?”_

_With another hug and smile, his brother was gone._

Cas slept.

When he woke up, he felt warm and inexplicably happy. Dean was holding him close.

“No point in you driving back to your apartment when you’re coming back tomorrow”, as he had told him last night; and so they’d slept in the same bed for the first time.

But definitely not the last. 

They hadn’t had sexual intercourse last night, but they had spent a significant amount of time kissing and cuddling.

He stared at Dean’s profile in the sunlight of early Christmas morning.

He’d never seen someone more beautiful.

Gently, carefully, he moved forward and kissed his nose. Then his forehead. His eyelids...

Dean chuckled.

“I could get used to waking like this”.

“Me too” Cas said.

 Dean opened his green eyes and smiled at him.

“Pretty sure I won’t get any presents this year” he announced, pulling him even closer.

“Why?”

“For some reason, you’re interested in me. I assume I’ve maxed out on any karma for gifts in the next twenty years.

“There are many reasons” he told him firmly.

“You are amazing, you are smart, you are kind, you are beautiful – “

“Woah. I see I still have a chance to keep you around if you haven’t realized yet I’m a hot mess.”

Cas frowned. He didn’t understand Dean’s lack of self-confidence.

“You’re – “ he began, but Dean distracted him by kissing him.

He’d just have to boost his ego over time, he decided.

God, he hoped they had a lot of time.

After a few more kisses, Dean sighed against his neck.

“I guess we have to get up” he mumbled.

“It would appear so”.

He chuckled.

“Did I ever tell you that you have a great sense of humour?”

“Usually people tell me I don’t have any.”

“Well, they don’t know like I do – like I hope to do”.

Dean wriggled his eyebrows.

“I thought we had to get up” Cas pointed out.

Dean sighed.

“Fair enough. Let’s make breakfast”.

Apparently a good, festive breakfast was a tradition in the Winchester/Singer household, followed by a lighter lunch, then another big meal at dinnertime.

Cas helped with the preparations as best as he could; sometimes they got... distracted.

“And here I was looking forward to breakfast” Bobby said, breaking them apart. Castiel blushed fiercely while Dean laughed.

“Sammy still asleep? I’ll wake him up”.

Cas was left alone with Bobby for the frist time since he and Dean had – were they together? He hoped so.

“Mr. Novak – “

“It’s Cas.”

“Cas” Bobby said slowly, “I am not telling you what to do, and God knows Dean will do what he wants. But – he hasn’t been very lucky in love. And if this is just a game for you – “

“It’s not” he interrupted him. “I lo – I like Dean very much.”

Bobby nodded.

“Good. Because he happens to like you very much too”.

Sam and Dean came in at this moment. Cas immediately drew him into a gentle kiss.

“You woke me up so I could watch you make out with your boyfriend?”

“Yep, and eat breakfast” Dean told him cheerfully, but as they sat down, he whispered into Cas’ ear, “It’s been four days.”

Cas squeezed his hand.

It was a harmonious breakfast regardless, Sam’s mood slowly brightening. It couldn’t be easy, dealing with an addict. But Cas was determined to learn, and look after Dean’s well-being at the same time.

By the time they went to open presents, they were laughing.

Dean all but pounced on him after receiving his batman t-shirt (“How did you know I liked batman?” “I guessed”), and Sam and Bobby seemed more than happy about the books he’d procured.

He’d told Dean again and again that he wanted no presents, well aware of their financial situation; he got handed a box regardless.

“Relax, I got it cheap” Dean assured him.

It was a long, warm winter coat.

“You can’t keep wearing the trench coat in that weather, man. You’ll catch a cold.”

Cas kissed him, well aware that, even if he should go out without a coat right now, he wouldn’t feel the cold at all.

This time, not even Sam made an annoying comment, although that might have had to do with Bobby glaring at him.

He good-naturedly stuck out his tongue. At least the boy was feeling playful today. Bobby didn’t think Dean could have taken a bad Christmas after everything the boy had been through.

Although he probably wouldn’t have noticed if Sam had been in a bad mood. He and Cas were talking quietly, lost in their own world.

He took a picture without the noticing, Sam hiding his giggles, and sent it to Rufus.

_Turns out Castiel Novak isn’t such an ice-cold bastard after all._

The reply came quickly.

_Merry Christmas to you too. Guess I should have taken the hint when without his help I’d be lying in a box now instead of carrying a peace maker._

Sam joined in Cas’ and Dean’s conversation when he heard them talking about Vonnegut.

Bobby leaned back and watched his boys. They hadn’t had it easy this year, but by God... things were starting to look up.

**Several years later**

“So what do we think of Papa’s latest effort?”

His daughter looked at the painting, laughed and pointed at it, shouting “Pa!”

It was all the validation he needed. He picked her up from her playpen, smiling at the little Christmas dress Dean insisted she wore.

“Daddy should come home soon”.

Dean’s restaurant was closing early on Christmas Eve, and staying so until the 27th. As his husband had pointed out, “We really don’t need the money, and the staff’s gonna be happy to be home.”

He hummed a Christmas carol, bouncing Emma up and down, as he walked downstairs and into the living room.

It hadn’t been easy finding a house that fit all the criteria they wished for – a studio, a kitchen, “a few room just in case” as Dean had muttered, meaning exactly the case Cas was currently holding in his arms – and not too far away from culinary school. So in the end, Cas had purchased the ground and they’d built one.

Quite literally, concerning Dean. He’d not only built their bed, but also their dining room furniture.

As his agent Balthazar put it, “You certainly found a guy who’s good with his hands”.

Emma was watching him with big, curious eyes before she turned her attention on the Christmas tree and made a happy noise, reaching out for it.

“Careful, baby girl. They’re not really sharp, but they’re still needles. Look, that’s the ornament Grandma bought for me and Uncle Michael when we were kids...”

He continued to tell her about the history of the decorations and had just reached the filigree angel with black wings Dean had somewhat bashfully given to him last year “Since you are my angel” when warm arms wrapped themselves around him and Emma let out an excited squeal.

“Hey, sweetheart. Hello, sunshine” Dean greeted them, stroking his daughter’s head as he kissed his husband.

“How was your day?”

“I finished the painting” Cas replied.

“Can’t wait to see it” Dean said, his eyes sparkling.

It had been him to suggest that he finally think about fulfilling his childhood dream.

_“Cas?” he mumbled one night in bed._

_“Hm?” he replied, tracing patterns on Dean’s chest._

_“You know you could totally become a painter, right?”_

_“Of course, Dean.”_

_“No, I mean – you actually could. You have all the money in the world. And there are enough people who could run your firm.”_

He’d been right, of course. Rachel was doing a wonderful job as CEO, and the last time she’d come to dinner (and to coo over Emma) she’d been accompanied by one of her assistants, Inias. Dean and Cas agreed that it was only a matter of time.

_He’d never been more nervous in his life than on the night of his first exhibition opening, except maybe when he had asked Dean out._

_There had been many who had laughed at his decision to step back from the company and become an artist. He didn’t mind; his own heart laughed within him, and that was quite enough._

_And despite all the cynics, it was a success._

_He was a success as a painter, just like he’d dreamed as a child._

_During the night, Dean drew him away from the crowd and into an empty room._

_“Sorry to drag you away from your adoring fans, but there is something I gotta ask you.”_

_“Yes, Dean?”_

_Dean cleared his throat, shuffled his feet. After a few moments of silence, he huffed._

_“This is harder than it should be”._

_And he dropped to his knees._

_“Dean?”_

_“Castiel Novak, will you marry me?”_

_The guests were treated to an enthusiastic shout of “YES”; Sam and Bobby just shared amused smiles._

_“About time” the older man muttered, “I was wondering what was keeping these idjits from it”._

_“They’re practically married already” Sam agreed._

_“Don’t start with me, young man. So when are you going to talk to her?”_

_Sam blushed. “Talk to who?”_

_“They pretty dark-haired one over there. You’ve been eying each other since you stepped in here.”_

_Sam grumbled something under his breath but still went to introduce himself._

_As it turned out, knowing the star of the evening was a good way to secure a date._

Dean, on the other hand, had not been so easily persuaded to follow his dream.

_“I’m not your kept man, Cas!”_

_“No, you aren’t. But I have the money and I want to spend it on someone I love. It’s been too long.”_

_Dean looked away._

_“I’ll think about it”._

He had thought about it, and it had been a long, difficult process to convince him. But now he was a husband, father and chef with his own restaurant.

“When did Sam say they’d come over again?” he asked, staring at their little bundle of joy.

“Around six” Cas said, gently handing Emma to her Dad. “But you can always walk over and ask.”

Their house had been a wedding present for him and Sarah. Even though they’d protested half-heartedly, they were both secretly thrilled to live next to them.

Both he and Dean couldn’t be prouder of what Sam had made of himself.

_It hadn’t taken long for Sam and Cas to become good friends, and for him growing every bit as desperate as Dean and Bobby to save him from his drug addiction._

_He’d never be able to say how much, if at all, he had helped; but not being related, not being quite as close to him as they were helped. Sam could talk to him in ways he couldn’t to the others; and soon, when Dean had stormed off angrily, Cas was the one he turned to._

_Years later, Sam would confide that it was a moment he’d witnessed between Dean and Cas after another of their fights that made him realize he had a problem._

_He’d stormed off, but looked back to see Dean leaning against Cas, his face ashen._

_For his brother to show his vulnerability so openly..._

_And he’d created that look on his face._

_He alone._

_That night, he threw away every single pill of his secret dash, promising himself that he was done with the drugs. He never wanted to see Dean like that again._

_Dean was surprised when Sam came down to dinner. Normally, he stayed in his room after their fights._

_“Hey” Sam greeted him shyly._

_“Dean, I’m sorry.”_

_He shrugged. It hadn’t been the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last time they would argue about the drugs._

_“Dean...” Sam began again, dismayed by the fact that Dean was apparently... giving up on him? Was that it?_

_Not that he didn’t deserve it._

_“I threw them away. I threw them all away, Dean, I swear...”_

_“You did?”_

_Dean had tried several times to get rid of everything Sam could possibly have hidden in the house, but there was always another stash._

_He nodded._

_Cas, who’d just arrived back at the house and had used his key to get in, gently withdrew from the kitchen. They hadn’t heard him come in anyway, and this was a moment meant for the brothers alone._

_It had been the first step of a long way. But Sam had made it, after setbacks and struggles; Cas and Bobby in the meanwhile had done their best to ensure that Dean took time to care for himself as well._

_In the end, Sam had become clean. And he had even gone back to college – one in their hometown however, because he hadn’t yet felt strong enough to live without Dean’s and Cas’ support._

_Sometimes, Dean and Cas were still amazed at what he had made of himself. When they had got together, Sam had been a drug addict. Now, he was  a freshly married lawyer doting on his niece._

“Bobby said seven, but he’s probably going to come sooner to admire you” Dean told Emma. “Because he knows he has the most beautiful granddaughter in the world.”

Emma beamed at him.

“Da!”

Dean grinned proudly.

“Look at you, smartie pants. Already babbling”.

She’d been pronouncing “Pa” and “Da” for a few weeks now, and was starting to try other words, but it still amazed Dean.

Cas too, if he was being honest.

He was also ready to bet that Dean was right about Bobby – he’d rented an apartment once both Sam and Dean moved out, but especially since Emma’s birth he’d been around all the time.

Cas expected that they’d build another house next to theirs soon enough, once Bobby was done pretending that he didn’t hate letting his boys and his “princess” out of his sight.

Between him, Emma’s aunt and uncle, and of course Dean, Cas was beginning to wonder whether his biggest challenge in parenting wouldn’t be making sure she didn’t grow into a spoiled child.

“Do you want to see the painting?” he asked suddenly.

He’d originally planned on giving it to Dean tomorrow, but found he couldn’t wait.

“Sure”.

Dean happily followed him upstairs to his studio, Emma still safe in his arms.

When he saw the painting, his mouth fell open.

“ _Cas”._

It was them – all of their family members, Dean in the centre with Emma, Cas looking at them adoringly; Sam and Sarah next to them as well as Bobby, and the friends they had found over the years – Rachel, Inias, Benny, Garth, Charlie...

“Cas” he breathed again, tears gathering in his eyes. When one slowly made his way across his cheek, Emma very pointedly said “No” and tried to push the corners of his mouth up with her hands.

He chuckled.

“Right. No reason to cry.” He eyed the picture again.

“Now, how do we show Papa we love his new painting?”

He drew Cas into a passionate kiss.

“Dean” he mumbled between kisses, even as he reciprocated, “We’re with our baby, and our family – “

“I know, I know” Dean whispered. “I just love you so fucking much.”

“I love you too” he answered, his heart still beating faster after all these years.

At this exact moment, the door bell rang.

Dean laughed.

“Told you. It has to be Bobby”.

He held out a hand.

“Come on. Let’s celebrate Christmas”.


End file.
